


O Ye of Fearful Sensibilities

by Pen Dumonium (megyal)



Series: Les Bleu Foncé [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Elves, Fantasy, Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/Pen%20Dumonium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a large family of loud individuals, Séraphin Bleu Foncé grew up quiet, and in silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Ye of Fearful Sensibilities

In a large family of loud individuals, Séraphin Bleu Foncé grew up quiet, and in silence. 

When he was three, his sense of hearing had begun its slow and irrevocable disappearance. His father, Dorian (the middle Bleu Foncé brother and the largest of the three in body), had spent many evenings with Séraphin curled in his lap. He would sing to Séraphin in his rough, lovely voice. One day, Séraphin sat up straight and tilted his head to one side. After a few moments, he said, "I can't hear no mo', Papa," and blinked at the absence of the sound of his own voice. Dorian had given him a quick hug. He set Séraphin on his feet, the very fine lines at the corners of his pale eyes and his mouth deepening into shadows.

It wasn't so bad. He could still feel tunes slipping over his skin, and beats trembling at his fingertips. Playing the drums at night in the Three Blue Stars was easy. Nearly any stranger to the bar didn't realize that he could not hear...at least, not in the normal understanding of the word. In any case, it was he who set the pace with metronomic precision, and the others followed, willingly. His mother, the wispy Benoite, was a wraith. Apparently Séraphin had inherited that trait which protected her from own defensive shrieks, but in his case it worked against him in such a detrimental manner. 

"It's just a shame it had to be you, eh, cher?" Dorian had said once. He had been sitting in the large wooden bench out on the patio. His big hands gripped a huge knife, wielding it with incongruous delicacy as he carved an elaborate head of a cane for Dominique, Séraphin's eldest cousin and one of his many half-brothers. "You had the prettiest voice of them all, y'know?"

Séraphin had smiled shyly at that, sweeping up the curled shavings with a short broom that possessed many bristles sticking out at angry angles. He didn't need to watch his father's lips to understand his words. Dorian made sure to place his words clearly at the front of his mind, so that Séraphin could pick them up without trouble. It wasn't hard reading any of his family, anyway, they were always so open to him. The twins were particularly easy; they were really more like one person spending time in two bodies, so their thoughts doubled and echoed,; so that was still not a chore. It was just difficult to latch onto the main thought when a chatty Bleu Foncé was going on and on about a million things, both inside their head and outside of it. Dorian was really the only one who took time to filter carefully his thoughts. If there was only one thing Séraphin would miss about him as he took the Long Sleep with the other elders of the family, it was that.

Benoite always had a slightly apologetic air whenever she materialized in his presence. He couldn't hear her voice, and he couldn't always comprehend the shifting nebulous mass of her thoughts. He felt her affection for him, floating up time and again. Dominique always complained that she loved Séraphin more than the rest of them.

The thing about being quiet all the time was that people tended to think that he was dangerous in some way. Remy, the lover of one of his brothers, was made to think that Séraphin would harm him in some way, when Remy had broken into their old house to steal. Remy was a little thief in any case. A thief with elf-blood, highly treasured...but still a thief. 

The little thief had been so wildly fearful of them, and yet as brave as an obnoxious kitten. Of course Sacha would have gone and gotten all lovelorn for the thief, and that was nice, eh? Aye, very nice.

Sometimes, Séraphin wished he had that kind of nice for himself; but he was a Bleu Foncé, and that kind of nice never came easy.


End file.
